


The depths of darkest hell

by CatrinHope



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Amputation, F/M, Kidnapping, Prison, Psychological Torture, Rape, Such a happy fic, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-11
Updated: 2017-11-09
Packaged: 2018-08-21 21:26:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8260952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatrinHope/pseuds/CatrinHope
Summary: Anyone but him, anywhere but here, anything but pain. No God or soul wouldn't listen to him, and Arjun remained in his prison with pain as his only reminder that he was still a human being.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! This is the first chapter of a longer series but bear with it, this won't have a second chapter update until Feb 2017. Long time to wait! But I have other fanfictions to write first :) Hope you enjoy and please leave a review!

The kettle rocked on its base as it came to a boil. Arjun rubbed his eyes, he didn't want to be up, but quarterly reports didn't right themselves. He really wished they did though. The kettle clicked and the water hissed as he poured it into his coffee mug. Even once it had been made the drink was still too hot to consume so Arjun walked from his dark kitchen to his dim living room and sat at his coffee table staring blankly at the bright screen as his laptop buzzed at him. He needed a new one, frankly he needed new everything, he'd just never got round to it. He brushed his hands through his hair, tomorrow he'd get round to it, like that wasn't what he said to himself every day. He sipped his scolding coffee, and began to type. The first few sentences came easily as they were the standard introduction he'd written a thousand times, but once he had to start looking through his notes, the statistics and graphs blurring into one boring concoction, the words came to a halt. He rubbed his eyes: he couldn't do this here in his cramped living room where the only lighting was the naked lightbulb that flickered and swung slightly in the middle of the cramped square room. He closed his laptop stuffing it into his closest bag. He was going to head to the nearest coffee shop, wake up a bit more and actually get some work done for once. He stood up, putting on his green winter coat, checking his wallet and keys were in his pockets.

 

Winter had hit London, something that the icy pavements were quick to remind him. The sun had yet to rise as well, the streetlamps still glowing orange into the morning mist. If it weren't for the work commute that he had joined as he left his apartment he would assume it was still the middle of the night. Also the cold air, though not as bad as it could be, still made him bury his head into his tall collar. He stumbled into the corner café, the warm light and the equally warm gush of air that came to greet him, made him feel at home. All of the sofas had all been taken by people who'd had the same idea as he had but at least he didn't have to be constantly leaning over. He approached the counter where a blonde, tired looking woman was cleaning her nails, but smiled brightly when he approached. He could never tell with baristas if their smiles meant they liked him or were paid to smile. He wasn't exactly bad looking, years of playing tennis had made him lean and muscular and his height didn't hurt. Also his light brown skin made him exotic apparently, according to his past girlfriends, though the idea made him uncomfortable and slightly insulted. Despite this, his black thin hair was never combed given how busy he found himself and his small brown eyes made his long face look empty.

"What can I get you?" she said still beaming, twisting slightly from side to side,

He smiled slightly, "just a coffee please."

"Anything else?"

He shook his head and gave her a crumpled fiver and thrusted his change into his pocket as he moved to the side to wait. He watched the hustle and bustle outside, the people outside practically marching to work as the noise of the other customers lulled him. He shook his head. He couldn't sleep, he had to do this. The people on the street barely noticed the small coffee shop, until a woman came running down the street and practically smashing through the door. The other customers turned round to see what the sound was coming from as she got up from the floor. She was thin and pale with thick black curly hair strewn across her shoulders and face, wearing a long dark blue dress that was definitely not weather appropriate. She backed away from the door, facing it, until her back hit the counter. Arjun looked across at the women behind the counter who seemed determined not to notice the strange woman. Arjun sighed, leaning over to her and politely asked,

"Are you alright?"

The woman's reply was only a look of disgust. He raised his eyebrows at the rudeness but was distracted as the waitress past him his coffee. The bell above the door rang again and the strange woman bumped into him. He was about to turn round to inform the woman of what she was doing when he punched in the chest and was knocked onto the floor. His head slammed into the marble floor, his brain jolting forward, making his eyes water and knocking the wind out of him. He tried to right himself but found the noise the screaming customers and breaking furniture made it hard for him to think straight. He finally got onto his side when blue light blinded him and his shoulder was hit. If he knew what being shot felt like, this was it. He could distantly hear his own flesh tear amongst his own screams at the wrenching pain. He lay back down on the floor panting heavily, eyes wide. He had to stay awake, if he closed his eyes, he'd die. He couldn't die, not like this. He couldn't.


	2. Chapter 2

It was like being lost at sea, the waves crashing over him as he tried to breathe, only to be only tempted with air. He woke up, heart ablaze with horror, taking a dry take of breath before being dragged back down under waves of pain and sickness that made him lean back, groaning. He was freezing, his skin damp and clammy but at the same time he was burning, on fire in fact. His arms stung with a thousand knife wounds and his clinging shirt and his stuffy coat felt like they were baking him alive. He shivered, retching at the swamping presence of his nausea. The wall he was leaning against was made of sharp, rough rock, pressing like knives into his back, but he didn’t have the strength to slump forward away from them, let only get up and walk away and find out where the hell he was. Breathing had become a conscious effect, each one laboured and heavy, every breath making him wish to throw up and sweat out his pain. He shook his head, trying to free himself from the hood of his coat but only ended up, with the content of his stomach sloshing up his throat. He groaned and leaned over, but found himself unable to retch it up. He stayed still, not wanting to move and cause any more pain. After a while longer, of growing used to the pain of the hell he’d woken up to, he realised how dark it was. So, dark in fact that it took him a moment, in his dream state, to realise, yes, his eyes were open. Was this truly hell? He wanted to be scared, but it wasn’t registering in his mind that he should be. He leaned back once more, closing his eyes. More time past, an eternity perhaps, he couldn’t tell, but the pain persisted, never ending nor wavering. Without light and even the walls causing pain, his mind became blurred by it, as if the pain was his own soul and made of nothing else until something broke the silence. Sobbing. He was so shaky, he didn’t know if it had only just started or if he had been too consumed by the suffering drowning him. It was muffled and a women’s, he was sure of that. It was soothing in the strangest way. To know there was something other than pain., even if it was grief. He went back under from his moment of clarity, feeling the sickness and burning over everything else. When he recovered, the sobbing was still there.  
“Hello,” he said his throat dry and burning, so the simple word came out more as a groan and caused him to choke.   
As he recovered his breath, a small quivering voice spoke back, “Hello? Who’s there?”  
It was frightening how long it took for him to think of an answer, “Arjun. Do you…do you know how I got here?”  
“No, I just woke up,” the women sniffed, “I don’t know what’s happening! I was at work and then…” the woman started crying again, and Arjun collected himself how from the effort it took to speak those few precious sentences.  
“What about you?”  
Coffee.   
He’d been at a coffee shop. He’d been shot. Just like that, the revelation to himself about his injury made his shoulder and wound feel so much louder the than any words. It was more a groaning pain, hard and aching like a bruise being pushed upon. He hissed.  
“Are you alright?”  
He didn’t know how to respond, he just curled into himself, making pitying whines to himself. His opposite hand, weakly flailed up to his shoulder, lightly stroking around where the pain was as he continued to make weak sounds through his gritted teeth.  
“Hey, it’s gonna be okay. Hey, hey!” the girl swallowed, stuttering what was meant to be comfort, “my name’s Maria, we’re gonna get out of this. It’s gonna be okay.”  
“Is it?” he said, roughly. His fingers jerk and they were suddenly warm with blood and his shoulder spiked in pain making him gasp.  
“Jesus!” the girl screamed, unable to see what was going on, only hearing Arjun’s screams.  
“It’s fine,” he said quickly, but more to himself, “it’s fine.”  
Quiet fell over them.   
“Are you okay?” he said, playing with the blood over his fingers.  
“Yeah. Just…dizzy.”  
More silence which had an almost deafening quality.   
“We’re gonna be fine. Okay?” he said, just wanting to with the dread with something, “everything’s going to be fine.”  
A door that could not have been seen before swung open to his right, a gust of freezing wind rolled over him and warm orange light came from underneath the doorframe. He could see now the girl, still in her barista uniform from the coffee shop sitting across from him, looking with frightened eyes at the person he couldn’t see. He blinked slowly in the new light, that burning into his skull as it illuminated more of the room as the person stepped in. He screwed his eyes shut, wishing for the darkness again. As the footsteps grew louder, Maria’s harsh breaths grew louder with them. He opened his eyes, against the pain, to see long curled hair flowing down the woman’s back that was draped in green velvet. He couldn’t see her face as she stood over Maria, who was trying to become one with the wall. There was a small ball of fire, beside the woman’s head. He could see it was levitating, but he found it impossible to focus on this little detail. He just watched the woman, their capturer, crouch slowly in front of Maria. He could see the pure terror in her face and though she wasn’t shackled by anything, the girl seemed to be frozen in place.  
A beat passed, the two women staring at each other, one in silence, the other near to breaking down into sobs again, while Arjun tried to stop himself from being sick with pain. Then, like lightening, their capturer moved and Maria started screaming. Arjun felt the panic rise in him before he registered what that happened. Maria stark pale leg had suddenly burst into the colour red, blood flowing in rivers, gushing from the wound in inner thigh. The capturer barely moved once again, but the screech of white hot metal touching the wound and the sound of popping like bubbling plastic gave away what was happening. He bent forward, retching, still unable to throw up, despite how much he felt like he should. The same was not true from Maria if the wet splatter upon the cold floor was anything to go with. When he straightened, the woman was over him, large dark eyes boring into his own. His heart stopped, awaiting for the pain but the woman left swinging the door shut leaving them in darkness once again, with Maria screeching to the heavens.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is SO LATE. (Sorry Sean). I was meant to publish this Sunday. IT'S WEDNESDAY. I bring shame to all.

“I was covering someone else’s bloody shift.”  
Arjun had his eyes closed but turned his with head towards Maria beside him. Once their kidnapper had left Arjun had slowly, painfully made his way around the small room to sit beside Maria. She was now leaning against his uninjured arm, the pressure of another being beside him was comforting.  
“Stupid Ben, probably high off his ass, I wasn’t supposed to even be in until Thursday.”  
Arjun hummed. He didn’t know how long it had been since the woman had visited. All he knew was that he was hungry and his throat was parched. He wondered if he should have been scared of starving to death or be glad of it.  
“I just wanted to get out of the house. I don’t usually leave the flat.”  
“Oh, I’m like that,” she chuckled but it sounded forced, “do you think anyone’s looking for us?”  
“Probably,” he shrugged, “but I don’t think they’ll find us.”  
He was oddly calm about it. It was fine to admit when they were alone and he couldn’t see anything, still hazing with pain.  
“I mean, what if she’s like an alien?” he continued.  
“Or a witch?” she added  
Magic seemed to fit more suitable, what with balls of fire. But to be held capture by witch just made it all seem too comical to be true.  
“Maybe we’re on drugs?” Maria said.  
“What?”  
“Like a conspiracy theory. The governments drugging us with…I don’t know, air vents and seeing what happens.”  
He wanted to believe that. Fuck the government.  
The door opened the kidnapper silhouette by the light from the hallway. He felt Maria cling closer. Even himself, for all his talk felt a chill at the sight of the woman watching them emotionlessly. He didn’t like how beautiful she looked. People like her shouldn’t look so beautiful. In her hand, she held a short smooth stick, pointing it in their direction, with the same demeanour one may hold a gun. She flicked it. It was like magic, there was no other way to describe the sudden feeling of loss of control. His body was no longer his own, as it stood without his command and against his fear of the woman, marched close behind her out of the room. It was worse for Maria, grunted and sobbing behind as she was forced to walk on a leg that couldn’t support her. They didn’t go far, turning into a larger cell mostly shadowed in darkness. Suddenly his body went limp, collapsing to the floor, shaking and gasping, being able to move his own hands again. He felt pure fear, his own body had betrayed him. He glared up at the woman who made Maria walked right to the back wall of the room. She also collapsed, grasping at her leg. The women then walked forward until her shoes were pressed into his knees. He stared up defiant, despite his shaking.  
“Kill her,” she stated  
He didn’t think he’d heard her properly.  
“What?”  
“Kill. Her.”  
Behind him Maria whimpered.  
“No!” he sounded so much braver than he was.   
A fist hit him across the face, pain being spend through his jaw as his teeth shook and his tongue bled.  
“Kill her.”  
“No, you fucking bitch!” he snapped, his blood drooling from his mouth.  
“Fine then.”  
Only when did the beautiful woman slowly make her way over to Maria did Arjun hesitate.  
“What-?”  
The woman flicked her wand once more and though his mouth moved no words were spoken, no screams were heard. He clawed at his own throat in frustration as if to tear the spell away but could do nothing but dig into his skin, flaying his throat. He held it then, feeling the sting from the salt on his hands. He strained for breath watching their kidnapper reach into the darkness, and came back into the light with a sledge hammer lazily dragging against the floor. He froze, all movement ceasing, all attempts to speak stop. When their kidnapper reached Maria’s shivering form, she swung it over her shoulder with inhuman speed and brought it down on her leg.   
“No!” He wanted to cry out as Maria was doing. He tried to crawl away while screaming, mouth open wide in pain. The woman then brought it down on Maria hand, that was clawing to the wooden floor. He could see no blood, but all saw how pale her hand went before the instant blue bruise and swelling followed. The mad woman hit her twice more in quick succession once over her uninjured knee cap and her other elbow and the bone shattered backwards, stabbing through her skin. Though Arjun couldn’t scream, Maria’s were too loud, echoing around the empty room, begging for mercy, for a God to come and give her death. Now Arjun started crawling but his legs were on fire, refusing to respond, as if the woman still had a spell on him. He wanted to scream his frustration as he moved at the slowest pace possible. The next few hits came to Maria’s chest and the crack of her ribs was unmistakeable. Her screams changed, no longer a high cry, but were choked as the blood filled her mouth. He continued to crawl, watching her twitching broken hand. The woman moved away when he could close enough to touch her. Her face was untouched, but the bones of her chest and hips, tore against her skin, dented in. Blood was between her teeth and her eyes were open. He didn’t try and shake her fragile body awake, it was too damaged to even be called a body. He wished he had just killed her. Why hadn’t he just killed her?


	4. Chapter 4

His grandparents had come over from Kashmir, India in the 1950s, soon after that, they passed away in a tragic car accident in the 1970s leaving his mother and uncle parentless. He guessed it had been what caused his mother lose her faith and marrying his atheist Pakistani father had sealed the deal. But now he wished he had a faith, a God to believe in. He wondered what his parents thought of all this. Did they believe he’d been kidnapped and possibly was dead? Or did they believe he’d disappeared, deciding to leave without a note or trace? He didn’t know which one was worse. He wanted to pray, at this point it seemed like the only thing he could do. What he’d learnt about his mother’s religion had been in stiff words when he’d questioned. She didn’t like talking about it and frankly as a boy he didn’t care and as an adult he’d never asked. He sighed, pleading in his own mind to a faceless omnipotent being for someone to save him. Did he even deserve to be saved? He sniffed, and changed to pleading Maria was safe whenever she was. His shoulder was healing as well as an untreated possibly magical wound could. It barely caused him any pain in his little cell, only his heart and brain hurt now. He was being fed now, though he seldom ate. He drank though, he was too weak willed to actually attempt to kill himself. He must have been here for weeks now, the room felt of piss and faeces. It made him feel so ashamed of himself to be living in his own shit, despite having no choice. For some reason, thinking upon it now made him want to cry. The door clattered open but he refused to look at it.  
“Get up.”  
He pretended he didn’t flinch at the woman’s words. He didn’t move, still not looking, like that would mean the horrible woman wasn’t truly standing there. His limbs were suddenly not his own and walking behind the woman, he was just the spectator in the puppets body. Halfway down the corridor he had walked last, where he had left that poor girl to her fate, the spell was lifted. He gasped, despite being able to breathe under the spell, he took in oxygen like a drowned man. He looked at her with watering eyes and found her large hazel eyes watching him with a sneer underneath them. He quickly looked down.  
“Are you going to walk now?”  
He nodded. He watched the hem of her purple cloak and moved to follow it. Soon cobble stone floors turned into wooden stairs and then to marble floor. He knew, without looking up, that the house he was in was closer to a castle, grander than anything he had stepped foot in. he felt out of place, only in the strange environment, but being present in such grandeur smelling like shit.  
“Is this your new one?” he froze at the gruff man’s voice. The woman had also stopped. New one? There had been more like him that this woman had taken. What had happened to them?  
“Yes.” The woman said coldly before travelling again. He tried to follow but his chin was grabbed roughly and he was forced to look into the man’s eyes. He was as annoyingly handsome as the woman, with a black mass of hair falling gracefully over blue eyes and stubble carefully trimmed.  
“Is that all dirt that covers you?” the man said grinning.  
Rajiv actually flinched at the comment, for the first time feeling something other than fear: hatred and anger. The woman’s wand entered his vision, stopping him from moving, luckily it was pointed away from him and the other man’s chin.  
“Mine,” the woman said simply.  
The man let go and smiled unkindly, “my dear Bella, I could never hurt your little pets. Just don’t let me find blood everywhere next time. You know how hard it is for the house elves to get it out.”  
He turned and walked up black stone stairs, his shoes clacking as he went. The woman started walking again and he followed, like he was under the spell again. He was going to die. He should have known it was unescapable. He wanted to be happy that his suffering would end, but he found he was unable to. He wanted to go home, see his parents again, wanted to go to job and have to deal with Connor’s advances which he was very flattered by but he wasn’t like that. He stopped again when his feet hit plush green carpet. He even looked up when he heard a swoosh and felt warm air gush over him. The woman had lit a roaring fire with her wand. He watched her openly at she strode to one of the many bookcases of the drawing room and then returned to the black armchair, facing the fireplace and away from the door. He could run for it now, hell even try to take her wand and…do something. Perhaps he should try strangling her with brute force and hope her husband and whoever else was in the building wouldn’t notice or have magic that could probably detect something that.  
“Kneel,” she pointed to the part of the carpet beside the chair she was sitting in. she didn’t even look up to see if he was following her orders, engrossed in her book. He knelt though, like a dog at its master’s feet, he supposed that was what he was. The carpet was soft and the fire was warm and he was just waiting for it to be taken from him and back into pain. It never came. That was what made it worse.  
“You stink.”  
He blushed. If he were cleverer, perhaps bolder he would have like to have replied to her with something witty, but all he could do was shake, waiting for the blow he was waiting to come to hit him. It didn’t, the page flicking meant the mad woman had returned to her book. When she placed it back on the shelf and ordered him to follow her again they wound up back at his cell.  
“Get in.”  
He did holding his arms together as if it was another person comforting him. He winced, feeling like all his skin had been waxed at once, leaving it slightly sore and raw. He turned to the witch, her wand pointed at him. He stumbled backwards, pleading, even when she closed the door he continued to plead, the state he had worked himself into throughout the day, constricting him, cracked his flesh as he fell to the floor crying.


	5. Chapter 5

The Lady got bored quickly with the charade. It lasted several days of him being treated like a dog until she got bored. His screams meant nothing to her and she looked down and the torn ligaments in his arm with the same concentration one would give a maths exam question. Both his arms were taught over his head and his legs buckled down to the hard wood, the straps over his knees threating to break them backwards. He’d thought she was going to break his legs. It seemed so stupid that that had been what he had been afraid of. Now he was screaming without any sound coming out of this mouth. Each touch of the knife was slight and brought new torturous pain. It was slow and never-ending. There was no relief or pause in her task. He couldn’t even bring himself to think about begging her to stop.  
It continued. He was sure by now that the woman could go all night and all tomorrow slowly tearing his arm from his shoulder. He felt sick, so close to his ears he could hear each snipping sound he was coming to fear, the blood washing down his side and dripped on to the floor.  
It continued. He felt faint, he had long stopped screaming, only twitched and shaking with cold sweat as she proceeded. He closed his eyes swimming in a sea of orange sickness. Sharp pain across his cheek and bright light woke him up once more.  
“Stay awake.”  
He felt so relieved to pain somewhere else.  
It continued. It felt so cold when she reached the bone and went on to a different side. When she was done, he could feel his flesh slipping down and he begged himself to grow a pair and drown in his own vomit. She grabbed the top of his shoulder and his elbows. He only had enough time to intake breath knowing what was about to happen with impending dread. Then there was a crack and pain everywhere from his head to his knees and darkness.  
It felt worse when he came to and it had stopped. She waved her wand over his stump and untied him. It was instantly healed and he couldn’t feel anything. Nothing. He shook as she helped lift him up.  
“If you can do that, why don’t you just torture with magic?” he bit out, tears falling down.  
She looked at his arm and stroked the stump. He didn’t want to know what she’d do with his actual arm.  
“You’re muggle, you don’t deserve magic.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh sorry it's so short, I've being busy :((

The blood had stopped running down his side but he could still feel riverets of its boiling heat still running down his side. It made him shiver, ironically. He had been left alone, aside from the merger meals that appeared to note the passage of time. He didn’t care, he’d stopped eating, perhaps then he’d finally be able to rest. The door opened, the loud sound made him flinch, cowering like a cockroach into his corner. Bright daylight streamed in, for a corridor he was sure didn’t have any windows, had they moved him? Had he gone mad? Or was this God himself coming to take him? Definitely going mad. He hid his head in knees and waited for the light to go away.  
“Look here muggle. I found you a friend.”  
The Lady was talking to him but he still didn’t want to look up.  
“I’m talking to you.”  
He groaned, his throat was dry, but even if he could speak, words would not work against her. He peered over his arm. Her pale fingers were wrapped around the throat of a sickly girl, her eyes looking at Rajiv as if he were a monster. Was that what he was now? She looked like Maria, or what he could remember of her alive, he remembered her more dead. He moaned again, at the sound, the girl pushed herself into the Lady, fearing him more than her. The Lady didn’t care, pushing the girl into the cell.  
“Have fun,” she said in her sing-song voice as she closed them into darkness. Arjun, buried his head again in his arms. He didn’t even wanted to acknowledge the girl yet. He was afraid that if he looked up, he’d see ghosts. Food and water arrived with a shoosh as it normally did. He peeled his drenching forehead from his arm. He still flinched when he found the girl in the dark. He tried to speak but only groans came out. She whimpered. He shuffled forward towards the food, and she whimpered again, shuffling as far away as she could. He only reached out for the water.  
“Let me kill you,” he said when he had drank the water.  
“What?” a small voice replied.  
“Let me…kill you. It’ll be easier than what she’ll do to you.”  
When there was no reply, he started to crawl forward, stumbling on his one arm. Then the screaming started. The loud noise made him back away, back into his dark corner. Even when it stopped he kept his head in his arms.


	7. Chapter 7

How long would the Lady would leave them? How long would she make the girl suffer? He just wanted it to end. Just to let it all end. But it couldn’t end. She wasn’t that merciful. Eternity felt longer now with the girl. At least in silence he could pretend to be dead. Listen to her sobs, he was reminded constantly that he was alive and what was going to happen. Let it end. His begging wasn’t listened to. She constantly moved and eat, while he stayed in his corner, hoping the fantasy of death would come true.

When the door opened again he nearly sobbed with relief. The Lady walked in and the girl continued to move. He wished she’d stop, it seemed wrong to do. The Lady walked over to him and waited for him to lift his head.  
“Kill her,” was all she said.  
He looked round at the crying girl. She couldn’t possible be even eighteen. He shuffled towards her. She begged for him to stop but back into the wall. She didn’t to move even as he wrapped his hands around her throat.


	8. Chapter 8

He remembered once being someone else. But couldn’t truly remember who that was. He remembered the sun and clothes that fit him and warm water running over skin. Perhaps it had all been a dream. He remembered time without pain, but now...it didn't seem possible. The Lady bored once more, and was holding a white hot poker with which she carved into his back. He had prayed that after so long, the pain would become dull. However he still screamed as best he could with his torn throat. Had life outside of the Lady and her house been a fantasy? It had seemed beautiful. 

Her nails scrapped over his new scars and he wimphered. Then the fingers left. The pain became a dull ache. He slowly opened his eyes. The door was open. She didn’t tie her down often, she prefer holding him down. Was it a trap? Had she left it open on purpose? And what would she do to him if he tried to escape. Kill him, hopefully. With that he crawled on hand and knees towards the door, struggling to his feet. He stood in the doorway watching for the Lady. He knew she had a husband and had also seen deformed children running about, but like usual, the hall was silent. The house always was...except for his screams. 

The room beyond was lined with windows, a fact he’d never notice before. He hadn’t allowed himself to look up from his feet. There was the sun. It was beautiful and white, streaming onto the cut grass far below. He pressed a hand to the pane of glass and opened it without hesitation. He could smell the ground, it was so earthy that the smell floating up and he inhaled. It wasn’t until a slight breeze streamed into the house that he started to cry. He looked back up at the sun, it’s goegrous light burning him like the poker had. Still watching it, he swung his legs over the edge and pushed himself off.


End file.
